


Down the Burning Ropes

by queerly_it_is



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Kink, Facials, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_it_is/pseuds/queerly_it_is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tyler is maybe a little fixated, and Colton's rules don't seem to apply to Tyler.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>Written for the prompt 'all over me' on stop_drop_howl</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the Burning Ropes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for stop_drop_howl on LiveJournal (or Travis, depending on who you ask)

Colton would love to say this is all Jeff’s fault.

Ever since that first joke about Fight Club and pretty guys being prettier when they’re ‘messed up’, he’s spent countless hours in makeup getting bruises and scrapes and black eyes applied to him; all while Tyler has that dangerously obvious look that says he’s _thinking_. Probably with the wrong brain.

It’s not like he’s worried Tyler’s gonna beat him up or anything. Mainly because the idea of Tyler hitting someone is filed right next to Dylan being cruel or Holland being vain in the draw of ‘stuff that will never happen ever’. And it isn’t even the first time he’s been told (sometimes jokingly and others--less jokingly) that he’d look good--that way. He just hadn’t expected Tyler to be the exception to the rule of ‘ew, no, get away from me’.

He probably should have, really, with the amount of stuff he’s already done like Tyler was a reason unto himself.

It’s just that Tyler’s ideas, while almost always spur of the moment and completely batshit insane; are kind of hard to say no to. He’s so damn laidback, and upfront, and earnest; that you can find yourself halfway to agreeing before any of it really sinks in.

So when Tyler babbles - as he tends to do - while Colton hollows his cheeks and sucks around the scalding length of his cock; a thin trail of drool and precome making it’s way down his chin to his neck, about how much he wants to come over Colton’s face; he just sort of rolls his eyes - and his tongue - until the chatter moves on. Then he’s too busy getting jerked off; hard and just close enough to the wrong side of rough to make it interesting; while Tyler licks the taste of himself out of Colton’s mouth to worry about any of it, words of _“you‘d look so damn pretty, dude”_ fading into choppy breaths and the rush of blood in his ears as he whites out.

The next time is more subtle, or at least, as subtle as Tyler ever manages to be. Colton’s got him on his back; long lines of brown skin and tensing muscle all outlined in shining sweat; hair plastered to his forehead as his legs clench tighter around Colton’s waist and his ass clamps down around his dick. He tends to talk less when he’s getting fucked, but he’s still so damn noisy; all grunts and choked-off moans and this high, pleading excuse for a whimper that Colton will never, ever admit to finding hotter than the others combined.

So when Tyler’s hand leaves the knot of crumpled sheets, comes to rest on the side of Colton’s face, he barely even notices. All he can focus on is that perfect tight-wet clench and the furnace heat of Tyler’s chest against his, the building pressure at the base of his spine and the pretty way Tyler bites his at his lip. But when those strong fingers start tracing meaningless patterns in the sweat on Colton’s brow; down to the spit still clinging to his kiss-bruised lips; salt and skin taste over and over like he’s feeding it to him, he starts paying more attention.

If he fucks Tyler a little harder; growls a little louder into the slick curve of his neck; bites a little deeper into that perfect place that smells so purely like sex and the stupid aftershave Tyler wears, then at least he isn’t thinking about Tyler striping his cheeks and nose and lips with jizz. From the way Tyler comes with a yell like he’s dying; he probably doesn’t spot the distraction anyway.

Their weird give-and-take over this sudden kink obsession lasts until after a ridiculously overblown network party, where they drink too much and laugh too loud and generally climb all over each, while a bunch of ruddy faced photographer try - and fail - to keep up with them.

Somehow he ends up in Tyler and Dylan’s apartment; hand loosely clasping a nearly empty bottle of champagne that Tyler has been calling their ‘loot’ for the last ten minutes like he’d had to wrestle it from a bunch of surly pirates. He’s not even sure where Dylan is; last he’d seen of him was when Hoechlin had an arm slung over his shoulder and a purposeful stride carrying them both to the nearest exit, with a dark look Colton is pretty sure was mostly Derek Hale.

“Man that was amazing.” Tyler sighs as he collapses down onto the couch in a lazy sprawl like his bones have turned to jelly. Colton just shakes his head and drains the last of the bottle; fingers not quite meeting around the curve of the glass, last surviving bubbles sparking over his tongue.

When he lets his head drop forward again; Tyler has a light flush over his already rosy cheeks, and one hand resting wide over his belly; fingers shifting slowly like he can’t help it, and his eyes are glassy but distinctly not moving from Colton’s mouth.

Colton knows that look.

“What?” He asks anyway, because sometimes it’s just funny as hell to watch Tyler start like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t; something he doesn’t do all the time and that Colton is disturbingly used to at this point.

“Nothing.” Tyler says, slow and a little blurred by alcohol. “S’just. You’re really fuckin’ beautiful, man.” One hand lifting to make some demonstrative wave at where Colton’s standing, said totally guileless and like it’s nothing; like Colton’s skin doesn’t warm and his eyes don’t want to flick off to the side where there’s nothing but empty air and safety.

“You’re just trying to get me into bed.” He laughs, and Tyler joins in because he can’t help himself when people are laughing.

“Only like, a little bit. I swear.” His hand goes up like he’s trying to swear on a bible, before he just waves it in midair, swatting at nothing. “So s’it working?” Cheeky grin that takes over his whole face and Colton feels himself echoing it on autopilot. He’s ridiculously pretty like this; knot of his tie hanging almost halfway down his chest, shirt buttons undone and jacket flared open around him like steel grey wings; legs spread enough to highlight the way his dick’s filling out in his underwear. He looks like every filthy thought Colton has ever had about guys in his entire life, and he suddenly gets hit hard enough by so much want he can’t make himself move; too many conflicting impulses and ideas flooding him at once.

“You should c’mere.” Tyler says, voice just hoarse enough for it to scrape over Colton’s skin like blunt teeth; empty bottle thudding to the carpet as he steps forward until Tyler’s outreached arm meets his side; palm warm through the fabric of his shirt, fingers slotting between the arches of his ribs.

Tyler tugs at him until he ends up awkwardly kneeling in the V of his splayed thighs; arched down in a sharp curve to press their lips together; sloppy and wet and perfect. He loses all sense of himself save for the ache in his spine and Tyler’s hand gripping his leg; dirty-sounding snick of every kiss and low, heated notes threading into each other’s mouths.

When the hand he isn’t keeping braced on the back of the couch brushes over the bulge in Tyler’s slacks, he gets a sharp hiss and a quick pinch of teeth on his lower lip that’s instantly soothed with a soft tongue. He presses down, hard, and Tyler shifts up into the pressure; legs going impossibly open and whole body rolling with the motion of his hips, eyes closing blissfully.

He leans back far enough to watch Tyler’s face slacken and his mouth fall open, all pink and shining and so fucking obscene he can’t keep the moan in as it shreds its way out of his throat. Tyler’s hands are resting on the outside of Colton’s thighs; gripping and relaxing by turns, material against his skin way more arousing than it has any right to be.

“What do you want?” He asks, out of nowhere and surprising both of them. Tyler’s eyes flickering open as if they’re weighted and noticeable jerk of his cock against Colton’s palm.

“C’mon man, you know.” Tyler says, thready and kind of one long, whining note that shouldn’t be adorable in the same way the idea of Tyler coming on his face shouldn’t be appealing.

He needs to just give up with these rules altogether, clearly they’re all total bullshit.

“Want to mess me up, huh?” Colton asks, part mocking and way too much utterly breathless, and sort of loving the way Tyler shudders from the hips outward; the slap of his feet against the carpet sounding like emphasis in the quiet room.

Something visibly snaps in Tyler’s expression, body bucking against where they‘re pressed together. “Christ dude you have no idea. Think about it all the fucking time; what you’d look like, being able to just rub it into your skin, see you all marked and soaked in it. So fucking gorgeous. Please you gotta, I need-”

“Ssh hey okay okay, I’ll take care’a you.” His own voice like stone-on-stone and cock leaking enough he can feel it already, almost painful tightness behind his balls just from this.

He slips off the couch and onto the floor, seamlessly enough considering he’s not exactly sober, and Tyler’s throat works in a long roll that has Colton’s mind flashing to hickeys and teeth marks, and then to pearly-white ropes of liquid heat. His gut tightens and his mouth waters enough to hear it when he swallows.

Tyler scoots forward to the very edge of the seat, hands balling and twitching by his thighs, restless. Colton unzips him, pulls his dick through the gap in his briefs and thumbs over the head where he’s wet and blood-red. The desperation in Tyler’s coiled frame is like a mist that runs through him and pulls him down, so eager for it so fast he can barely keep up.

He seals his mouth around the flared head in one move; Tyler twitching all over and some fractured noise coming from him on the first wet suck. Colton’s always loved this part, taking someone to pieces with such a basic thing, and Tyler always lets him set the pace, never thrusts up before he‘s ready for it. But Colton really can’t spare the patience for slow right now; just covers his teeth and goes down as far as he can, back up on a long slide of his tongue against the vein until he can press the tip against the spot under the head.

He pulls out every dirty trick he knows, exploits every sensitive bit of Tyler he can think of; takes it deep into his throat and swallows around him, and before long Tyler is shoving at the side of his head with an uncoordinated move, then making that damn whimpering sound at the slick _pop_ as Colton pulls off.

The sight of Tyler’s hand working his dick inches from Colton’s mouth is fucking torture, but he rests on his heels and watches Tyler smear precome and Colton’s spit down the length of himself, twist of his wrist and curve of his palm.

“Fuck, m’gonna come.” Tyler bites out, and Colton manages to close his eyes as a long, guttural moan fills his ears and the first wad of come lands across his cheek. He twitches, stupidly surprised by how hot it is, literally and in the way the heel of his hand is grinding into his cloth-covered dick to ease the ache.

Pulses of it shoot across his lips, string between them as he pants a little open-mouthed. It mats in the hair of one temple; runs across the bridge of his nose, along the lines of his jaw, droplets collecting in the edge of an eyebrow. It drips off his chin and tingle-itches down his neck and over his Adam’s apple, cools all over him. There’re these shattered little grating noises that he only realises are coming from _him_ when Tyler starts muttering about how hot he is, how slutty he looks, and he feels his balls drawing tight as Tyler’s already wet thumb traces lines in the mess he’s made of Colton’s face.

Tyler pushes it across his lips, groans when Colton’s tongue meets him and laps at the whorls of his fingers, tastes the slightly sweet bitterness of it.

The last straw is Tyler sticking his soaked fingers between Colton’s lips and into his mouth, hard and wet and salty and he sucks even as he’s humping up shamelessly into his own hand and pulsing into his boxers; hard as rock and pressed so tight against his zipper it just draws it out longer. Every jerk is ripped from him; visceral and sending electric shivers all over his body, fighting to keep his eyes closed as his tongue works against the fingers in his mouth.

It feels like it lasts forever, like he’s burning up and fizzling out from the inside, like there’ll be nothing left except Tyler’s marks on his skin.

Finally he just folds forward into Tyler’s legs, forehead pressed to one bony knee, taking harsh breaths though his nose that do nothing to ease the aftershocks since all he can smell is how filthy Tyler’s made him. His dick valiantly twitches, sopping wet and bordering on painful.

“Jesus _Christ_ , dude.” Tyler finally manages, slumping back into the cushions even more loose-limbed than before, and Colton hums though a raw throat and tries to decide whether he wants a shower or a nap more.

“S’your turn next.” He says, aiming for threatening but coming out more dazed and croaky, tongue roving over tacky lips.

“‘Course.” Tyler mostly yawns, already sounding out of it. “Just, after I take a nap yeah? I wanna be awake for it.”

Colton thinks the shower can probably wait a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from James Vincent McMorrow (with sincere apologies OMG)


End file.
